The ruling class, the REAL ruling class, I can live with.
Well not exactly, not literally. They stay where they are in Exclusiveville. I'm in Erskineville.
At least they seem to know their proper place and we have had no reported sightings in recent, living memory.
Of course their representatives sometimes bang heavily on the door to ask questions like. "Does so and so live here? This was the last address." Or. "We've received a Noah report and we'd like to check the premises." Or. "These outstanding fines. If you bring the bread up to Newtown we won't have to issue another warrant," and so on.
These enquiries have a legitimate place in the scheme of things, nothing really personal. Besides which it saves the ruling class from having to do their own shit work. Not to be denigrated if Erko streets are to be kept free of outright parasites, despite signs of creeping gentrification.
The lumpen proletariat (the thieves, junkies, dope smokers, dealers and stealers, derros, ex-crims and recidivists) don't worry me either. I'm on a nodding, drinking, smoking, speaking and fighting terms with most of them.
The last time a couple of teen thieves (outsiders from Marrickville up the road most likely) got in, I cornered them and they got such a blast about the difference between rolling the rich and robbing the poor they promised to keep clear and stick to their own patch in future. Or go Vaucluse or North Shore way as I suggested.
Besides which, there's fuck all worth pinching.
No. It's the middle class that shits me. Friends of house occupants and friends of their friends, who sometimes gravitate into the house as fellow students, lovers, political allies of the aforesaid occupants.
Firstly there's the things they NEVER do. Like wash cups, plates and cutlery before they leave. Like empty ash-trays (except by kicking them over and walking the ash into the already multi-stained carpet). Of course, housework is a NO NO.
All in pursuit of personal emancipation.
And they NEVER bring any washing powder when they come round to wash their smalls - and sometimes larges.
The things they DO are even worse.
Like use all the marg. for late night snacks. Well not all. A smidgen is left which shows a caring attitude by not taking the bloody lot. Just enough to make you choke on the still dry toast next morning.
The same with essential staples like vegemite, peanut butter, milk (again leaving just enough to slightly colour the morning brew without even slightly changing the taste of the raw tea) and of course, tea itself.
The common view seems to be that you, personally, own a plantation in Sri Llanka. Tea promotes great discussions. Like how we should all be helping the third world by demanding an end to single crop economies, all the time slurping the products of the existing ones. Maybe it's against their principles to buy half a pound of Bushells.
Helping indigenies make the change as it were.
Even so. All this is nothing more than an asphalt bubble on the road of life. The box give rise to the greatest crime of all.
It's the match of the day, the last match of the rounds. Your Westies battlers have to win to make the five. Rex reckons their stuffed. He'd know, wouldn't he?
We've been behind all day. Only seconds left and still down by five points. The ball is on the twenty-two (ours) and is heeled back just as the siren goes. The full back launches a long up and under and Chicka is on side. Their fullback is across in cover. Over the line they dive. Holy shit - A TRY!
A TRY! A TRY IN THE BLOODY CORNER! CHICKA WE LOVE YER, YER BLACK BASTARD!
We need the conversion to pull off the upset.of the season. We could be IN!
You exclude everyone and everything. Your mind, your senses, body and spirit are congealed into a pin-point microcosm of concentrated hope against hope.
The kicker moves in.
And then, at that absolute moment in the absolute infinity of time and space some stupid mongrel wants to know how many points for a goal!
So you lurch to the tape deck and put Shirley on - 'Why Don't You All, Why Don't You All, Why Don't You All ..................".
Some people just have NO class.
Well not exactly, not literally. They stay where they are in Exclusiveville. I'm in Erskineville.
At least they seem to know their proper place and we have had no reported sightings in recent, living memory.
Of course their representatives sometimes bang heavily on the door to ask questions like. "Does so and so live here? This was the last address." Or. "We've received a Noah report and we'd like to check the premises." Or. "These outstanding fines. If you bring the bread up to Newtown we won't have to issue another warrant," and so on.
These enquiries have a legitimate place in the scheme of things, nothing really personal. Besides which it saves the ruling class from having to do their own shit work. Not to be denigrated if Erko streets are to be kept free of outright parasites, despite signs of creeping gentrification.
The lumpen proletariat (the thieves, junkies, dope smokers, dealers and stealers, derros, ex-crims and recidivists) don't worry me either. I'm on a nodding, drinking, smoking, speaking and fighting terms with most of them.
The last time a couple of teen thieves (outsiders from Marrickville up the road most likely) got in, I cornered them and they got such a blast about the difference between rolling the rich and robbing the poor they promised to keep clear and stick to their own patch in future. Or go Vaucluse or North Shore way as I suggested.
Besides which, there's fuck all worth pinching.
No. It's the middle class that shits me. Friends of house occupants and friends of their friends, who sometimes gravitate into the house as fellow students, lovers, political allies of the aforesaid occupants.
Firstly there's the things they NEVER do. Like wash cups, plates and cutlery before they leave. Like empty ash-trays (except by kicking them over and walking the ash into the already multi-stained carpet). Of course, housework is a NO NO.
All in pursuit of personal emancipation.
And they NEVER bring any washing powder when they come round to wash their smalls - and sometimes larges.
The things they DO are even worse.
Like use all the marg. for late night snacks. Well not all. A smidgen is left which shows a caring attitude by not taking the bloody lot. Just enough to make you choke on the still dry toast next morning.
The same with essential staples like vegemite, peanut butter, milk (again leaving just enough to slightly colour the morning brew without even slightly changing the taste of the raw tea) and of course, tea itself.
The common view seems to be that you, personally, own a plantation in Sri Llanka. Tea promotes great discussions. Like how we should all be helping the third world by demanding an end to single crop economies, all the time slurping the products of the existing ones. Maybe it's against their principles to buy half a pound of Bushells.
Helping indigenies make the change as it were.
Even so. All this is nothing more than an asphalt bubble on the road of life. The box give rise to the greatest crime of all.
It's the match of the day, the last match of the rounds. Your Westies battlers have to win to make the five. Rex reckons their stuffed. He'd know, wouldn't he?
We've been behind all day. Only seconds left and still down by five points. The ball is on the twenty-two (ours) and is heeled back just as the siren goes. The full back launches a long up and under and Chicka is on side. Their fullback is across in cover. Over the line they dive. Holy shit - A TRY!
A TRY! A TRY IN THE BLOODY CORNER! CHICKA WE LOVE YER, YER BLACK BASTARD!
We need the conversion to pull off the upset.of the season. We could be IN!
You exclude everyone and everything. Your mind, your senses, body and spirit are congealed into a pin-point microcosm of concentrated hope against hope.
The kicker moves in.
And then, at that absolute moment in the absolute infinity of time and space some stupid mongrel wants to know how many points for a goal!
So you lurch to the tape deck and put Shirley on - 'Why Don't You All, Why Don't You All, Why Don't You All ..................".
Some people just have NO class.
